


Perspectives

by MelinyaValerian



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, hinted Cullen/Fem!Inquisitor, includes others on the sidelines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 04:23:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5192201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelinyaValerian/pseuds/MelinyaValerian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the destruction of Haven, the Inquisition's Commander finds it harder than usual to look forward, as the group around the Herald who secured their escape is still missing. Cole tries to help - in his usual manner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perspectives

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I neither own Dragon Age, nor any character in this.
> 
> This is more or less a character study of Cullen and Cole in the first hours after Haven in form of a short story.

Forward.

In whatever hard, exhausting or terrible situation he had been in, he had always forced himself to focus forward. Looking backward never helped, and while he had to admit that he did it from time to time, rethinking, sometimes even re-living times long gone, there always had been a point in time when he had found enough focus to move on. What other choice did he have? The past was never truly gone, he knew that all too well, it remained in thoughts, in dreams, in nightmares, even in his decisions; shaping him into the person he was. But he couldn’t allow his past to interfere with his future, with the Inquisition’s future; let it blur his vision and keep him mourning mistakes, instead of moving forward to change them.

In some moments it was harder than in others, sometimes looking backward looked like too much of a comfort to not do it; but right now, all that was behind him, behind them; was a Haven burning, hopes dashed and a mountain crushing over their enemy, burying him and his armies under rock and snow. But he wasn’t fooling himself one second to think that this was their victory. The Elder One and something that looked like an archdemon weren’t killed by as such lesser powers as forces of nature. They would need something else to destroy him, even if he couldn’t think of what right now.

But it wasn’t the Elder One who tore his thoughts back to Haven in the first place, and not the Elder One who made him look back for real, against the storm and snow that had started hours ago, before they had reached the sheltered place where they had built their interim camp.

They had escaped, nearly all of them. From what he had counted, fewer men had fallen than he had expected and feared; and they all, all that were now in this camp, cold and miserable, more or less homeless; but alive – all they had to give credit for their survival to her.

Just because she had stayed behind. Had drawn the Elder One and his demon dragon out, had bought them time – just because of her and those few willing to follow her they had still a future to worry about. And now he disregarded that future for a moment, looking back, because after hours and hours, she was still missing. She hadn’t returned, neither had Cassandra, neither had Dorian Pavus, neither had Varric. And the storm was too strong for a search party. They had taken the risk for their lives, and he feared they had lost it. It made it hard to focus forward, he had to admit, when something within him wanted to ignore the storm and go and search for her. It was impossible, he knew it. And in a matter of seconds, his will would be strong enough again to focus forward, but until then, there was a part of him deeply shaken by the thought to have lost them.

He should have fought with them, he thought. But the fleeing soldiers had needed him, so he had organised the retreat instead, and he knew somewhere inside himself it had been the right thing to do. But she, she shouldn’t have been the one to take the risk, to gamble with this creature for their lives. He hated it that all he could do right now was praying that she had not lost this game of chance, standing on the edge of a camp staring into the darkness, and not seeing more than the deadly stillness of the place once known as Haven, eyes squinted against the snow, and not hearing anything more than the winds blowing.

“Lights, Maker help us, lights in the darkness”, a voice spoke somewhere near, and his thoughts were bent away from Haven. A boy stood next to him, vaguely familiar with his large hat and his eerily calm voice. “Is this them or is this dying? Freezing, frightened; he is too small to move in the snow, Maker, let it be them. The mage cannot see with both eyes, and his rips are crushed, the storm is too strong.”

“What is this about?”, he said, beginning to be sceptical. His mind returned to the situation at hand, to the camp and the direction forward. Was this one of the stable boys from Haven, and what did he speak about? “Speak clearly, if you…”

“She struggles, stumbles; sunk into the snow. The storm and the snow won't let her go; but she sees fires, their fires clearly in the distance; hope and warmth where there is only cold. She knows it, she hopes it, and her faith keeps her moving on. They are coming; and they need help.”

“Commander!”, another voice shouted, a scout from the edge of the camp. “I can see figures in close distance, coming from Haven, one looks like Lady Cassandra!”

Ignoring the stable boy he left his spot and closed the distance to the end of the mountain ridge that sheltered their camp site. Not daring to hope, and yet wishing it would be true and the slightest bit excited, he followed the direction in which the scout was pointing. It was true, and excitement changed into determination. “Inform Sister Leliana and the Ambassador, and see that the one of the healers is free, and bring him here.”

The scout saluted and ran to obey his orders, the other scouts that had been watching the way back from the shelter of their camp stood already by to get to their survivors.

“Thank the Maker”, he muttered to himself when they reached them, some hundred yards away. But then, a second later he realised it were only… “The Herald”, he said the second he noticed who was missing. “Where is she?”

“I am sorry”, Cassandra replied, and shook her head slightly. “I do not know. She stayed to distract the Elder One, so we could flee.”

He wasn’t sure why it hurt, why something within him broke like glass, but it took him a lot of strength to rally himself and not let it show that hearing this killed something within him. Casting his eyes down for a second he nodded curtly, and stepped forward to support Cassandra, who for once seemed to have lost enough strength to accept help.

Slowly, they moved back to camp. The snow was high enough now that Varric could hardly move, and while he didn’t particularly like it, he had to follow closely a broad soldier who carved a path into the snow. Dorian Pavus, the Tevinter mage, had a swollen eye, but insisted he was able to move on his own, if only slowly.

The mood was low, sadness and a form of desperation had reached out for them. Even Varric was silent, and looked shaken.

“The Maker will watch over her, I am certain.” He hadn’t noticed that Cassandra had turned her head up to him, and he hadn’t noticed that his worry showed so much. Focus forward, he told himself.

“One way or the other”, he said in reply to Cassandra, and as soon as the survivors had been brought to the healer, he set out to watch the camp entrance again. He knew he should be debating their future with Leliana and Josephine right now, or planning the moves forward.

But looking back had gained another merit; wishing that she was still out there. Maker, if anyone had to pay the price for them being able to flee, why had it to be her? The Herald of Andraste, they needed her in this dire times, and surely the Maker had more plans for her than sealing the Breach only to fall a heartbeat later, when there was an even greater danger ahead? He would search for her, they owed her that much. But as long as this storm was raging, any step further away from camp than to where they had caught up with Cassandra and the others would have been suicide, and if there was any reasoning in him right now than that whatever happened, they needed everyone. He couldn’t risk going after her for nothing. All he could do again was pray, and hope that this storm would be over quickly, that she had escaped somehow… Escaped a dragon and the Elder One, and possibly Samson and a horde of Red Templars. It seemed to be hoping against hope.

“It’s not your fault”, a voice tore him back to reality again, and when he looked next to himself, he saw the stable boy again. “She decided, and he wanted her; she had taken away his mages. But he is angrier now, crushed under the crumbling mountain, not dead but defeated for a heartbeat, and he is screaming without a sound, raging his victory was taken, and that she could escape.”

He couldn’t even object this time, he just listened like he was spell-bound, and something within him had the vague idea the boy spoke of the Herald. And the Elder One.

The boy looked up to him now, pale eyes behind unkempt hair fixing on his, and he didn’t know what to say or feel. This boy was eerie, but there was a certain truth to him that was hard to ignore, if unsettling. Hadn’t he spoken to Chancellor Roderick, when Roderick hadn’t said a word in fact, or was this his imagination tricking him? Hadn’t the boy… hadn’t he foreseen that Cassandra, Varric and Dorian would return, that Dorian had a black eye and Varric couldn’t move in the snow? What was he, and was there a chance that she …? “Who are you?”, he asked, as calmly as possible.

“I’m Cole, I want to help”, the boy said and lifted his hands the slightest bit as if defiant. “You don’t need to be cautious. I won’t hurt anyone, I promise. But you worry for her, and you shouldn’t. What happened was not your fault, you tried to protect, but you couldn’t be with them _and_ with her; and a part of you knows she understands.”

Feeling like the boy, Cole, could read his mind somehow, and not liking the feeling at all, he raised his brows, sceptical, his hand moving to his sword’s hilt. Something within him wanted to believe the boy could see something, but he had never heard of people predicting the future, or the present.

And mind-reading was blood magic, and blood magic was the last thing he wanted right now. His eyes went down to the wrists of the boy, but they were not cuts.

“I cannot cast magic, you don't need to be afraid; I am not like them, not cutting open arms to turn your friends into demons”, the boy said, and the commander met his eyes again, still sceptical and now feeling deeply unsettled. Now was not the time for dwelling in the past, though there was no sensible reason the boy should or could know _that_. But it had to be true, the boy read his mind, how else could he know of that fear; and nevertheless - he let his sword go, not fully understanding why. “What are you, then? Explain yourself!”, he demanded, forcefully calm, but something within him added one and one, and he started to prepare himself for the worst. If he could read minds, as impossible as it seemed, and he had read the mind of the others…

“There”, the boy said, pale eyes wide in excitement, and his head went around as if he was looking somewhere, but didn’t know where. “It burns, they came for her, but she burns inside her hand, a green light spreading through the cave, and now they are banished, broken; brought back through the veil… I hear her, she stumbles forward, she looks loud and noisy, too much war inside her, too much pain to hear it clearly… forward, forward… there is light... but all is so cold...”

“Wait”, he interfered. He had heard the tales of the boy long enough now. Blood mage or not, if he had any idea where the Herald was, he needed to hear it. It could be all he needed as a reason for a search party. “You see her? The Herald? You read her mind? Where is she!”

“I can’t read her, she is too loud, she hurts too much; the other side screams inside her; too overwhelming; I can’t hear her hurt beyond theirs. But she is alive, or she would feel different, doubtless and distant, and more peaceful.”

“Where!”, he demanded, asking himself for a split second why he believed the madness of a stable boy that might be a blood mage. But it was only for a split second.

Keeping his gaze fixed into the distance, the boy lifted a hand into the direction from which they had come, where they had rested before the storm had started. If she had just left the caves, it wasn’t far, maybe an hour’s march without the storm…

If there was any chance that the boy was speaking the truth, any chance she was truly there and truly alive, he had to take it.

As if the Maker wanted to show He was on their side, the storm cleared slowly, and none of the scouts even showed any sign of objection to follow the trail back from where they had come. He didn’t explain to them what the boy had said, they didn’t need to know. Somehow, even if his mind still couldn’t quite get the situation, what the boy had said had sparked hope inside him. A hope he was too eager to preserve, and unwilling to let go.

They made progress quickly with the storm dying down. It was a small passage that led into their camp, and a wider, opened space behind, where they had camped before. When they reached it they divided into groups to search the area more efficiently. He felt caught somewhere between hope and fear, and somewhere between an inappropriate excitement, and the slightest bit of despair. They needed her, it was true.

But when they found her; pale, with blue lips and what looked like a broken arm, face-down in the snow, apparently unconscious, he suddenly knew that he needed her as well. They hadn’t found her to let her die here, and he felt much gladder than would be appropriate that he could still feel a pulse. The world was silent for a second, and like automatic he sent the scouts back to prepare a tent and get a healer, speaking the words clearly, but not hearing them, fixed on her pale face. With new determination and quick movements, he cut the leather straps that held her armour together, freed her from it, and took off his coat. He covered her in it, somehow thankful she was smaller and thinner than him, and lifted her up to carry her back. He didn't feel like he could entrust anyone with the task of keeping her safe. He had failed her once, he wouldn't fail her twice.

She felt so light, it went through his mind, and all the way back to camp his eyes wandered to her from time to time, hoping the paleness would leave her face, and that her lips would turn red again. When they didn’t, he caught himself holding her tighter, somehow hoping he could warm her. But he couldn’t. Silverite was cold, and leather was thick. All he could do for her was carry her back, protect her now that she couldn’t protect herself.

He didn’t take the coat back when she was safe in a tent, and Mother Giselle and a healer mage had tended to her wounds. He just put it above the blankets, in a rare moment of sentimentality, as if it would mean something to her. It wouldn't, he told himself. Even if; it meant something to him, maybe more than he supposed it should. She was still unconscious, but safe with them now, covered in blankets and hopefully drifting to sleep; while soldiers and scouts were patrolling the camp.

This time, it didn’t startle him to hear the voice of the stable boy next to him. “She is silent now, the other side doesn’t scream so loud inside her any more, crying and craving to get out, bursting to break free. And you are quieter, as well. Good.”

With an eerie smile he lifted a hand before Cullen could say anything like thank you, or ask him how he knew so much of his mind. The boy faded from his vision, sunk into shadows, and it appeared to him that there had never been a stable boy, and that they had started searching because the storm had calmed down. What did it matter, as long as she was safe.

He was still in the nearness of the tent, his eyes darting to her a last time. Her lips looked red again, and beyond the blankets and his coat he saw her chest moving more regularly, deeper now. She slept. Good.

Relieve flooded him, and he hadn’t been aware how tense he had been until now. It had been good to look back, they had found her because they had; but with the relief also his strength and will returned to him.

At the fireplace, a halfway recovered Cassandra argued with Leliana and Josephine about their future. No matter if he had failed to protect the Herald back in Haven, right now he didn't have the time to dwell on those thoughts. He still had a future he could argue about now, as he probably would when joining the three women in their debate. A future in which the Herald was still alive, and he sent a silent prayer to the Maker to thank Him for her safety.

Then, he left the tents towards the fireplace to enter the debate. He collected himself, found his focus. There was only one way to go now, no matter how that way would look in the end.

Forward.

**Author's Note:**

> I always liked it that it is Cullen who leads the search party for the Herald/Inquisitor. Well of course that's in itself pretty logical, but still, when the Inquisitor is romancing him or even just attempting to be his friend rather than just a colleague, it's quite a bit more meaningful, I think.  
> I admit I wrote this actually specifically as a story in my personal DA:I universe and for my Inquisitor, but I don't think that the identity of the Inquisitor matters much in this, except for the fact that she's female and the Herald, and Cullen begins to like her a bit too much. That's why I decided to keep her face- and nameless. I just wanted to know what drives Cullen, where his priorities are and how he deals with the stress and the fact that he had to leave the Herald behind.  
> I also HAD to add Cole. He is simply adorable, and there was no way he would let Cullen brood alone. Also, by the Maker, he is a piece of work to write...
> 
> Last but not least: Special thanks to my beta-reader (should you ever read this on AO3 :D), who corrected many of my thinking errors and whose opinion I appreciate very much.


End file.
